


the files room

by notjodieyet



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 11 doesn't know it's him, M/M, O, Spies, Spyfall Spoilers, Sweet boy, Thoschei, a birthday present for a beloved friend, o is actually an otter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet
Summary: The Doctor's been arrested; a very attractive agent is filing him into the MI6 archives.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 82





	the files room

There’s been a mistake, thinks the Doctor, although he tries not to let it show in the carefully lazy placements of his limbs and raised eyebrow. He knows Amy would say it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen off the blue plastic chair on which he’s perched; but he has experience sitting strangely in chairs, at least. 

The MI6 agent who’s furiously typing at his computer looks up every few seconds to collect more information. He’s a soft-spoken, soft-faced young man, British-Indian (if the Doctor had to hedge a guess), wearing a sharp suit with a bright purple necktie. Every once in a while, his fingers creep to his throat and he fidgets with his tie. It’s obviously the only part of the outfit he’s picked out himself, and the Doctor is willing to bet he tied it too tightly or he’s nervous. New job, possibly.

“Date of birth,” says the man, quickly. 

“What’s your name?” 

The man looks taken aback, and he stutters, “Oh, sir —”

“You know, I’d like to know the name of the agent who arrested me, but she doesn’t seem to be in the room at the moment.” The Doctor doesn’t think he was arrested on any good grounds, but he supposes that he’ll find out eventually.

“Oh.”

“What’s your name?”

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, more firmly, and his fingers scatter across the keyboard, clacking away. “Date of birth?”

The Doctor says a date, randomly. Apparently, it’s satisfactory to the agent, and he fills it in. “Your name?” says the Doctor.

“My name is O. _The letter O_.”

A spy thing, thinks the Doctor. “Doctor.”

“I know.” He smiles to himself. “You know, around here, they don’t really believe in… Well. They don’t take extraterrestrial threats all that seriously.” A little laugh. He looked at the Doctor in a strangely longing, familiar way. 

“Well,” said the Doctor, an extraterrestrial being in a forcefully terrestrial location, “There’s organizations for that. Torchwood…” He trails off, the rest of the list waiting in implication. 

O nods, and returns to taking notes. “Are you really,” he says with the smile of a schoolboy’s crush, “from a planet called Gallifrey?”

“Gallifrey? Sure.” The Doctor winks, loving the attention, preening like a well-praised peacock. 

“That’s so far away,” says O, admiringly. 

“Oh, not in the TARDIS.” 

“I’d like to see that.”

The Doctor flushes, burning hot, used to River’s sly innuendos. “I, erm, like your teeth,” he manages. This is how humans flirt. He can do this. He can flirt. 

“My teeth?” The incessant clicking of the keyboard pauses for a minute. 

The Doctor screwed up, didn’t he. _Teeth_? What was he thinking, complimenting O’s _teeth_? _Idiot, absolute idiot_. 

“Th-thank you.” O sounds more flustered than anything. He smiles at his computer screen. “You’ve got nice teeth, too.”

The Doctor freezes up. He’s seized with the sudden desire to push across the screen on O’s desk and grab his face and kiss him, and the Doctor wonders where it’s come from. He’s never immediately attracted to anyone like this. 

O seems to gain control of himself again, and he types a few lines onto whatever form is on his computer. “Would you mind coming with me to the files room?”

“Would I —”

He raises his eyebrows a few centimetres. The Doctor doesn’t know how to think; his mouth goes dry. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he says. 

O smiles, unreadably. “Just down the hall to the right. I’ll show you there.” 

He stands and offers his arm to the Doctor. The Doctor takes it, something in his eardrums buzzing brightly, and walks down the hall with him. The Doctor’s head spins, his hearts pound. 

O pulls him gently through a door. Everything this agent does is gentle; he seems all too gentle to be a spy, even one who worked in the office. The room is wide and dusty, the only low light provided by a swinging light from the ceiling, and it’s completely filled with metal shelves and boxes of files.

“Exciting,” says the Doctor.

O leans up to him, that trusting face open and soft, and he kisses the Doctor. He tastes familiar, like burning things and the wide desert and metal and a little bit like home, whatever that means now. 

It feels like kissing —

It feels like kissing somebody else, a long time ago. 

It feels like kissing a boy in a room and completely botching it. It feels like kissing a man who he hated. It feels like kissing fire and storms and an explosion and the stars all at once, and O was just a guy with a computer.

O pulls him closer. 

The Doctor steps away, to fiddle with his bowtie and the top buttons on his shirt, and O’s eyes are unbearably soft and needy. They sparkle in the dim light of the files room.

And then the door creaks open, and a familar voice says, “Where’ve _you_ been?”

“Uh.” The Doctor bounces on his heels, tugging the top of his shirt back together and chewing his lip. “Hey, Amy.”

O flushes and says, “Sorry. _Sorry_. I’m — uh, hello — I’m so sorry,” and snatches a scrap of paper from a metal shelf. “My number’s —” He plucks a stub of a pencil from his pocket and scribbles down numbers, and presses the paper into the Doctor’s hand. “Text me?”

“I will.”

Amy grabs his hand and pulls him away. “TARDIS’s waiting. Nice to meet you. We’re leaving.”

“A’right.”

She shoots a look at the Doctor that means, _we’ll talk about whatever this is later_ , and takes him out of the MI6 building. 

Later, he texts O. 

It’s a long time before he sees the agent again. But until then, they text. O gets closer and closer to the Doctor’s hearts. 

Close enough to drive a knife through them.


End file.
